


Snapchat

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkwardness, Dick Pics, Humor, M/M, Snapchat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn’t have encouraged it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapchat

Dean’s gonna friggin’ kill his brother. 

Ok, so maybe that’s a bit of a charged thing to say with the whole Mark of Cain thing still around. Dean needs to take a deep breath.

But still. Metaphorically speaking. He’s gonna friggin’ kick his brother’s ass. 

See, a few weeks ago they met up with Cas for a brief run down, to check up on him - or for him to check up on them, whatever. And Cas had a shiny new smart phone. Sam had spent a few hours huddled up next to Cas whispering and pointing and generally scheming. 

Dean would have been nervous about what they were talking about, but Sam was smiling and Cas’ little confused brow furrows smoothed out into eye crinkles and he was smiling soon too. They said their goodbyes and moved on. 

Then Cas started snap chatting him. 

A scraggly ginger tabby sitting by some graffiti’d brick building with Cas’ hand outstretched petting it’s head.  _I bought a can of tuna for him._

A sky shot with a single massive puffy white cloud, the bottom edge of the picture framed with trees, the sky a bright blue.  _It looks like … a cotton ball._

A two door cherry red Chevy Impala, Dean’s not too sure of the year.  _It reminded me of you._

A selfie, probably taken in a cheap motel because there’s a door with a no smoking sign behind it and one of those ubiquitous tiny hair dryers fixed to the wall. In it, Cas was smiling in that non smile sort of way, no coat, just a white button down and a striped blue tie.  _Claire got a new tie for me._

Dean wants to be annoyed. He scowls at his phone, and he only responds half the time and it’s always just a text. But, he wants to give Cas just enough encouragement that he’ll keep doing it, without appearing like Dean really wants him to. Only, he kind of does. 

Dean doesn’t even know what the fuck a snap chat is or why it’s necessary when you can just text pics. 

One night at the bunker, Sam tucked in safe and sound, Dean gets stupendously drunk and texts Cas a dick pic. He’d be embarrassed of it in the morning, if Cas hadn’t called him pretty much immediately after the pic was sent. Plus, they had some great phone sex. Not that it’s anywhere near as good as Cas holding him down and fucking him senseless. But Cas’ voice is just… yeah. 

He shouldn’t have encouraged it. 

Him and Sam are sitting in a diner waiting for breakfast, Dean drinking a glass of water because his hangovers are getting worse with age, when Cas snap chats him. It’s a shot down his body, Dean can see that little mole by his nipple, the blocky enochian scrawled along his ribs, the bit of pudge he must have picked up when he was doing a stint as a human, and his hand at the base of his cock holding up his erection.  _Would be a better morning with you._

Dean fumbles, knocking his cup of water over and dropping his cell phone. He scrambles to pick up the phone, praying to anyone listening that Sam doesn’t see what’s on it, pulling a wad of napkins over to the mess covering the table and himself, not sure what to do with his hands and what he needs to take care of first. He may be distracted. Salivating a little. Thinking about being on his knees with Cas’ strong hands fisted in his hair, fucking his mouth sloppy, crooning what a good boy he is. 

Shit. 

His phone needs to be dried off too, tucked in his over shirt’s pocket because his jeans are soaked. The waitress comes over to take the glass and help mop up the table and ask what’s wrong. Dean can feel his cheeks burning. And he’s going to friggin’ make Sam suffer, because his stupid brother is just shaking in the booth across from him looking like he’s trying to hold back his laughter. Sam fails. 

Clutching his belly, head fallen forward, Sam tries to cackle as quietly as he can. It’s not very quiet. 

“Friggin’ seriously Sam. It is not that funny.”

Sam opens his mouth, gasps, eyes screwed shut, leans against the table and squints at Dean, opens his mouth again. 

“Oh my god Dean, you just got texted a dick pic from an angel of the lord, and it, and it - you got yourself all wet over it!”


End file.
